


Love, Etc.

by coloursflyaway



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-06 23:32:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12221196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coloursflyaway/pseuds/coloursflyaway
Summary: Something Eggsy doesn't expect to happen while he is being shot at is a lepidopterist quite literally knocking him off his feet.





	Love, Etc.

„Watch where you’re going!“, is the only thing Eggsy hears, then something hits him, knocking him off his feet. His gun goes flying, as do his limbs, and instead of shooting one, or hopefully all of the men approaching him, he is on his back, a warm body on top of him.  
“Are you insane?”, the body above him wants to know, pushing and shoving until Eggsy can see a mop of brown hair, pale skin and a beige shirt, “That is a Pachliopta jophon, they are critically endangered! I have been searching for one of them for almost two weeks, and you almost stepped on it! What the everloving fuck is wrong with you?”

Above them, someone has started shooting.

“That’s a _what_?”, Eggsy grits out, unsure if he is annoyed, confused, or if the stranger just knocked his brain out of his head as well as the air from his lungs. “Get off, you berk, there is someone-“  
He tries to shove back, but the second the stranger pushes himself up, another bullet tears through the air, hitting a tree and almost felling  it, and Eggsy has no choice, has to pull the man down again.  
The second time, the impact doesn’t quite take his breath away as much, but the stranger is broad, heavy, and doesn’t stop talking even now.  
“It’s a butterfly, a _rare_ butterfly, which you almost squashed with your absolutely unsuitable shoes”, the man hisses, wiggles in Eggsy’s arms. He is a lot stronger than expected. “What are you doing in Sri Lanka, wearing leather oxfords anyway? Or are those your favourite insect-squashing shoes and you just couldn’t leave them at home?”

There is the tell-tale sound of someone reloading a machine gun ringing through the damp, hot air, and yet the stranger won’t _stop_ , tries to push himself up again, forces Eggsy to more or less hug him to his chest, try to save this impossible man from himself.  
“Insect-squashing shoes?”, he asks nonetheless, voice incredulous, gets a mouthful of hair for his effort. “What the fuck, bruv, why would anyone have insect-squashing shoes? Also, just in case you didn’t notice, because you were too busy bitchin’ at me, but we’re being fucking shot at!”  
“Well, I wouldn’t know, would I, because I do not run around-“, the stranger starts, trying to interrupt Eggsy, but stops abruptly once Eggsy has finished. He goes still, at least for a second or two, then slowly, tentatively shifts until there are no elbows digging into Eggsy’s side anymore, no hair tickling his nose. Instead, there is a face just above his own, maybe an inch or so away, peering down at him.

The stranger only has one eye, the other one covered by a dark patch, thin lips which are parted in horror, pale skin that looks just a little too wide for his face; he could be Eggsy’s father, and Eggsy is very, _very_ glad he isn’t.  
“Hot damn”, Eggsy whispers, because he’s in the middle of a fight and beneath a man he would probably fight for. This is not the time for censoring your thoughts.  
The stranger above him raises an eyebrow, and Eggsy is sure that he’s either going to say something about being shot at or insects, and right now he wants to hear neither.  
“Look”, he says instead, cuts the tall, dark stranger off before he can speak. “Yes, we are being shot at. Yes, I know why. Yes, I can also get us outta here…or I hope so, at least. But I need to know somethin’ else first.”  
“Yes?”  
“If we get off this damned island alive, are you gonna go out with me, weird butterfly guy?”

A moment passes, and apparently the men after him are getting ready to finish them off, because the silence is cut short by another dozen bullets hitting palm trees, fern and most likely also a couple of insects; this time, the stranger seems to hear them.   
“Jesus”, he gasps out, pushes closer to Eggsy, who suddenly doesn’t mind that too much, “I am not sure I should go out with someone who gets into situations like this, or who steps on butterflies, but yes, alright. I’ll go out with you… strange insect-crushing man.”

 

It appears that sometimes, the only thing Eggsy needs to motivate him to fight and win is a handsome man watching him do it.

 

“You’re a what?”, Eggsy asks, once they are safe and sound in the Kingsman plane, the stranger unfortunately sitting on the chair opposite of him and not with him on the small sofa. There’s a glass of whiskey dangling from the man’s long fingers, amber and just as tempting as the stranger himself; it makes him look more like a prince and less like a lunatic, running around to shout at secret agents in jungles.  
“A lepidopterist”, the stranger repeats, and the word does ring some bell, but most likely not the right one.  
“Ain’t that a sickness?”, he asks, grinning at the other, who smiles back good-naturedly, like someone who has heard this, or a similar question, far too many times.  
“I think you might mean leprosy. No, I study butterflies for a living.”

“And someone pays you for that? That’s sick, bruv”, Eggsy tells him, kicks back and winks at the other man, “Then again, I’d pay you for a lot too.”  
“How flattering.” The man doesn’t seem to be very impressed, or flattered, but Eggsy appreciates the sentiment. “Speaking of, who pays you for coming to Sri Lanka to be shot at?”  
“Ah.” Eggsy pulls a bit of a face, can’t quite help it, then adds, “Would it help me get into your pants if I told you that I am a super spy, sent here to save the world from a particularly unpleasant megalomaniac?”

A small pause, like the stranger is considering it, then he replies, “Not really. But I think it’s very nice that you tried.”  
“That’s just because I’m going to get into your pants anyway, innit?”, Eggsy shoots back, waggles his eyebrows which must look as suggestive as dumb; it’s worth it, because his Mr. Darcy cracks a smile. He might not be charmed yet, but Eggsy is pretty certain he will be able to change that before the fourteen-hour flight ahead of them is over.  
“We’re going to see about that.”  
Eggsy hums his approval – they definitely will, surely saving the man’s life will be good for something – then adds, “Also, just so y’know, this definitely doesn’t count as a date yet, butterfly guy. Still part of the rescue mission part, this is.”

Another sip of whiskey disappears between thin lips, which curve into a smile that makes Eggsy feel a little bit weak, a little bit happy.  
“Call me Harry”, his stranger, his Harry, says, and it’s the perfect name for a perfect man, Eggsy knows that already, can almost hear himself mutter and gasp and moan it. “And surprisingly enough, I am glad to hear that.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Eggsy always thought he knew all the important restaurants in London, and yet he has no idea where to take Harry. The fourteen hours they spent together in the plane were nicer than nice, mainly because Eggsy could spend six of them talking to Harry and eight of them watching him sleep, and yet he neither knows the other man well enough to choose a restaurant he can confidently say Harry will like, nor can he claim ignorance and take Harry to some bland, posh place that neither of them will enjoy.

So he picks Harry up with a fancy Kingsman cab, wearing his best pinstriped suit, and takes him to the pub next door. If he’s going to go wrong, he’d rather know it right from the beginning.

And he expects a reaction from Harry, who looks and acts like he is at least some kind of royalty, but the older man only raises an eyebrow as they get out of the cab, offers Eggsy his arm before they cross the street. Eggsy takes it, of course.  
Harry smells like he expected, tart and expensive, like lemon and bergamot and something Eggsy would like to have all over his sheets.  
“Do you think they serve Pinot Grigio?”, Harry asks nonchalantly, and Eggsy cannot help but laugh and pretend he isn’t pressing closer.  
“I mean, you can try? Wouldn’t really bet on it, though. They’re more of a Guinness and pie sorta place.”  
“Perfect”, Harry says, pulls open the door for them, “I hate Pinot Grigio.”

“And I don’t even know what that is supposed to be”, Eggsy tells him, grinning, waves at Julie, the bartender he slept with four and a half years ago, and hopes she won’t feel the need to embarrass him in front of his date. Then again, knowing Julie, she might just assume that Harry is his father.  
“Ah, well. I suppose international super spies have to survive solely on a diet of martinis and sex”, Harry answers, sits down and crosses legs that are longer than should be legal, smiles at Eggsy in a way that lights up his eyes, that makes him look five years younger and ten times more handsome.  
“I knew the super spy thing would work eventually”, Eggsy says and joins him at the table, “It always does.”  
“We’re going to see about that”, Harry tells him, sounding unimpressed, but a tip of a very expensive leather shoe presses against his ankle, slides up his leg. It leaves Eggsy a little bit breathless. “But just in case it does, I happen to make great martinis.”

 

“Well, if it’s like that, I hope for you that Eggsy here is better at sucking dick than he is at eating a girl out”, Julie tells Harry, because she apparently holds a grudge a lot better than Eggsy ever would have thought possible. She obviously wants him to suffer and for a few moments, she is succeeding.  
But then Harry leans forward like he is about to tell Julie a secret, his voice low, conspiratorially. “I am sure he will be satisfactory. And if not, well… you see, I’m one of the men who’d rather give, than receive.”  
He winks, nudges Eggsy’s leg with his shoe again, apparently unaware that he has just given Eggsy a heart attack, an ulcer and half a boner in ten words. Without looking away, Harry picks up his glass and downs the rest of his Guinness. “But anyway, how about we get out of here, Eggsy, darling, and give it a try?”

 

They do get out of the pub, although Eggsy doesn’t have a clue how he managed to pay, or get up without his knees giving out; maybe it’s the arm that Harry offers him, which keeps him upright, maybe the knowledge that if he passes out now, the chances of finding out if Harry was being serious are going to be seriously diminished.  
So they make their way out of the pub, the cool air outside helping Eggsy to calm down at least a little bit, enough to look up at Harry and see the amusement sparkling in his eyes, and not immediately imagine how the other man would look between his legs.

“I would have imagined a super spy to be a little bit smoother when talking to former conquests”, Harry points out, and Eggsy is almost glad that there isn’t too much blood left that could rush to his cheeks and tint them pink. “Or a future one, for that matter.”  
“Well, and I would’ve thought that someone who talks like the Prince of Wales wouldn’t divulge his preferences for sucking dick to a bar tender, but I guess we all have to be wrong sometimes”, Eggsy shoots back, even if the words come out a little more breathless than he wanted them to. “But really, thanks. You probably saved me back there…for the second time this week.”  
Harry hums, lets his arm fall to his side; for a moment, Eggsy is disappointed, but then Harry takes his hand instead, intertwining their fingers. They fit together better than Eggsy would have expected, his short fingers between Harry’s longer ones, their palms brushing against each other with every step.

“And here I was, worried that I had killed you back in there”, Harry finally replies with a smile, and Eggsy chuckles, bumps his shoulder into Harry’s.  
“You did, for a moment at least. But it definitely was a good way to die, I’ve gotta give you that.” He clears his throat, his heart suddenly beating a little faster, a little nervously. “Question is just if you’ve got an even better way of killing me later in mind.”  
A pause, a breathless, endless one, then Harry’s fingers tighten around his, and when Eggsy dares to glance up at him again, there’s a smile on his face, a sweet one, but not the smile of someone who is going to take him to bed.  
“My dear boy, I’ve got a dozen plans at least”, Harry says, and Eggsy believes him. “But how about we consider those another time, and for now, you let me walk you home and we enjoy the rest of the evening together.”

It’s both a disappointment and a relief at the same time, because Eggsy is still far too turned on, and yet doesn’t want this to be a spur of the moment, a one time thing; he likes Harry, genuinely likes his dry humour, his quick wit, his quiet intelligence. And if Harry wants to wait with this, another week or another month, then Eggsy will wait, half-hard and wanting and maybe a little bit infatuated already.  
“That’s alright”, he tells Harry, smiles at him and watches the other smile back. “As long as I get a proper end to this very proper date.”  
“And that would be?”  
“A kiss”, Eggsy drawls, smile turning a little bit lascivious, “I’ve always wanted to kiss a lepidopterist.”

If nothing else, it at least makes Harry laugh, a happy, relieved sound; Eggsy is going to get his kiss, he knows that already.  
“That is a lie. And an atrocious one, at that.”  
“Yeah, okay, I’ll give you that”, Eggsy admits, shrugs, because he really doesn’t care. “But y’know, I kissed a princess before and it wasn’t all that special, so I’d rather go with a lepidopterist this time.”  
“A princess?”, Harry asks, sounding both surprised and amused. “Apparently it does pay off to be a princes after all… or a lepidopterist.”

 

Harry does walk him home, but although it’s cold outside, the wind making Eggsy’s ears, the tip of his nose hurt, although he knows that the evening will end in a kiss, Eggsy still dreads to arrive. Since this is nice, just chatting about everything and nothing at all, Harry’s thumb brushing softly across his own, a small caress that seems to mean so much.  
And yet, they reach their destination, like they were always going to, Eggsy’s little cul-de-sac, the house that has never really felt like home. His steps get slower, slower still, his hand tightens around Harry’s, and then they are in front of his door, the words dying right there on Eggsy’s lips.

“I suppose that means our very proper date is coming to an end”, Harry says softly, turns so they are facing each other, the light from the street lamps making Harry’s eye sparkle. “And I am glad to say that I regret that very much.”  
“Me too.” Safe inside his chest, Eggsy’s heart picks up its beat, pulsing painfully, hopefully, because there is still something he is looking forward to after all. “So that means we are going to do this again? And I’d advise you to say yes, because otherwise I’ll have to find a new life-threatening situation to save you from again, and that sounds pretty stressful for both of us.”  
“In that case, the answer is definitely yes”, Harry replies, reaches up and strokes his fingertips along the line of Eggsy’s jaw and leaves a trail of sparks dancing across his skin. “But it would have been that anyway. I’d very much like to see you again.”  
“Good.”

Eggsy tilts his head a little, leaning into Harry’s touch, and the other smiles softly.  
“How about I take you out next time? Let’s say Tuesday.”  
“I’m in Mogadishu on Tuesday, would Wednesday work too? Might be a bit jetlagged, but I’ll do my best to bore you with really obscure facts about Somalia”, Eggsy suggests, even if waiting to see Harry again for one more day sounds a little bit like torture.  
“Of course.”  
Harry steps closer, close enough that Eggsy feels small, safe somehow, although, in case of a fight, it would be him who would protect Harry. It’s a dizzying feeling, one he could get used to, and without thinking, Eggsy cranes his neck, asking for a kiss without saying the words.

There is a moment that feels like the world is coming to a halt to take a deep breath, prepare itself, and Eggsy does the same, because he has been waiting for this, maybe since the first time he saw Harry’s face. The fingers still resting on his face shift as Harry cups his cheek, a warm palm pressing against his skin, keeping him grounded.  
“I think I still owe you something, don’t I?”, Harry mutters, and his voice is warm like hot chocolate on a cold winter’s day, vibrates through Eggsy’s chest and leaves him breathless; the only thing he can do is nod. And it’s enough for Harry, it seems, because the other smiles and leans down, and a moment passes, then their lips brush.

Harry kisses like he touched him, gently but with an intensity that Eggsy has never felt before. His lips are soft, warm and insistent, promise more, but don’t deliver it, and Eggsy can’t help but grab the lapels of Harry’s coat, holding onto them far too tightly.  
Although he is responding, it feels like he is being kissed rather than kissing, because Harry is leading him with every slide of lips, every soft nip of teeth, keeping the kiss firm, but slow. The hand on his cheek is tilting his head back ever so slightly, and before he has had the moment of time he would have needed to prepare him for it, Harry deepens the kiss, licks into his mouth and sucks the sound Eggsy makes right from his lips.

In all his twenty-six years, Eggsy has been kissed better, by people who had time to figure out just what he liked, but Harry still manages to take his breath away, to the point where Eggsy feels like he is melting, ready to mould himself to fit perfectly against Harry’s body.  
A large hand comes to rest on his hip, warm and safe, and Eggsy would gladly spend the rest of the night right there, letting himself be kissed until his lips are raw and bleeding, but then Harry pulls away. Not too far, just enough that Eggsy can miss his touch.

“’s that it already?”, he asks softly, although it was more than he had hoped for, and Harry chuckles softly, strokes the pad of his thumb across Eggsy’s cheekbone before he drops his hand.  
“It has to be, unfortunately. Because otherwise, I don’t think I’ll know when to stop.”  
“That wouldn’t be a problem for me, y’know?” Eggsy gazes up at the other hopefully, but it’s no use.  
Harry steps back, still smiling and says, “On Tuesday, Eggsy. I’ll walk you home again.”  
“And then you’ll come in for a drink and a second kiss?”  
“Maybe even a third one.”

Harry’s hand twitches at his side, like it wants to reach out and touch, and Eggsy sympathises; there is nothing he would like more than to crowd the other man against the wall, kiss him breath- and mind- and senseless. But not today.  
“Goodnight, Harry”, he says instead, smiles, and realises that it’s enough, as long as he gets to see Harry again.  
“Goodnight.”

For a moment, they just look at each other, Eggsy trying to commit the way the dim, golden light makes Harry’s eyes shine, his skin look like it’s been carved from marble, to memory; he doesn’t look younger than he did back in the jungle, not older either, he looks like himself, and he looks like someone Eggsy would be very happy to call his own one day.  
And then Harry turns away, slowly, like he doesn’t want to take his eye off Eggsy, and Eggsy watches him leave, his broad shoulders and slim waist, his sinfully long legs that carry him farther away with each step.  
He doesn’t look back, and Eggsy hasn’t expected him to, so he turns too, walks into his house with warmth and sweetness filling up his chest, his every limb.  
They’ll see each other again soon enough.

**Author's Note:**

> I might end up writing another part for this, because i had so much fun with this story, and I've still a couple of ideas that I'd like to explore, if I find the time for it. Who knows. 
> 
> In case you want to say hi, send me a prompt, or tell me something nice, you can find me on Tumblr here:  
> [X](http://www.coloursflyaway.tumblr.com)


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